A Quiet Beer with Pete Brown

Q: Pete, you're newly returned from
a global pub crawl with one eye on your pint/schooner/mug/stein and
the other on the beer and pub culture around you. You drank at four
hundred bars in twenty seven towns in thirteen different countries.
How's your liver?

A: I’m in surprisingly good shape! I
did a month-long detox when I finished the travel, and the liver is
a very resilient organ – it recovers quickly. I’d recommend a journey
like this to anyone who loves their beer, but I’m very conscious that
if I want to enjoy this lifestyle for the rest of my life, you have
to build in checks and balances. You can’t get bladdered every day
and still expect to be able to write about it afterwards.

Q: On of those thirteen countries was of course Oz. We have
to ask, how did you find the beer culture down under? How is it different
to
the other 12 countries, if at all? Our beer's the best in the world
right? Right??

A: Aussie beer may well be the best in
the world, but you drink it so cold no-one would ever know! Don’t get
me
wrong, on a hot day after
working up a thirst an icy-cold lager is the only thing that’ll do.
But I was surprised to see a lot more craft beer in Oz than I’d expected
– Coopers ales, Chuck
Hahn’s James
Squire beers and brands like Little
Creatures are as good as any beer around the world, but you just
don’t get the full character of them if you drink them at, like,
two degrees.
Your Aussie drinker thinks of anything above about three degrees
as ‘warm’, but some of us who live in cooler climes have found
this new
temperature band between ‘bloody freezing’ and ‘blood heat’ which
we call ‘cool’. You guys should check it out.

But Aussie drinking culture is just fantastic. Australia and Ireland
were the two countries I was sorely tempted to stay in and write a whole
book on. But in each country, so many people have had the same idea before
me. I love the fact that drinking beer is ‘Australian’, the fact that
it’s seen as part of the culture rather than this embarrassing trait
that some people persist in doing. I love the fact that you’re rightly
proud of your drinking behaviour.
Q: You mention in the book at the US produces some of the blandest,
most piss weak, cardboard tasting beers in the world (which appear,
at least in part, to be taking over). And yet the US appears
to be leading the world in the craft beer revolution at the same time
- even Michael Jackson (The Beer Hunter) has said that if he wants
the best beer choice he'll go to the US. Where is this heading do you
think? Will big, bland and shithouse take over, or will the craft brewing
scene become the norm?

A: Craft
brewing will never become the norm, but we will get to a position where
everyone who actually wants to taste their beer and
is curious
about trying new and different stuff will be able to get access to
it quite easily. There seems to be this unwritten rule in a lot of
human behaviour, the 80-20 rule: in the case of beer, I reckon about
80% of people are perfectly happy drinking the same old shit every
day of their lives, and would be scared if a new, strange, different-tasting
brand appeared in front of them. These people will always drink bland
mainstream beers because they’re not drinking to appreciate the taste;
they’re drinking purely for physical refreshment and to get a bit
of a buzz going. And you can’t tell them that they’re wrong to do
that.
There are plenty of wankers in the beer world who think these people
are stupid, or that they only drink big brands because they’ve been
brainwashed in to doing so. But the truth is simply that not everyone
is as interested as we are.

But the other 20% of people like the taste of beer, and are curious
about it in the same way they explore new and different tastes in all
food and drink. These people tend to be educated and affluent, and are
prepared to pay more for beer they know has been carefully brewed with
quality ingredients, as well as with love and expertise. So craft beer
is more profitable than standard beer, which means retailers want to
sell a higher proportion of it, which means there’s a motivation for
getting more people to try it. We’re seeing this amazing cross-fertilisation
of ideas and styles now as the world gets smaller, and if you want it,
there’s an astonishing variety of great beer out there.

Q: At least
in American TV shows, there seems to be a real piousness about giving
up the grog in the US. "I've been sober 18 months",
some grinning idiot will say proudly to the acclaim of all. In Australia
people would politely
nod and never speak to him again. Or someone will call themselves a "recovering
alcoholic" because they used to get on the turps every now and then in
their uni days and haven't since. That just sounds bloody stupid down under,
because beer isn't evil. Did you come across this in the US, or is it just
on the TV? Presumably this derives in part from the deranged US bible bashers
who also appear on TV in great numbers and appear to control the country.

A:
Increasingly we’ve got it in the UK as well. I thought it had disappeared years
ago, but it’s getting stronger again around the world.

Health bodies are campaigning for alcohol to be treated in the same
way as cigarettes, which is just stupid: I don’t smoke, but I’m fine
with people who do. But it’s scientifically proven that every single
cigarette you smoke does harm to your body. Whereas if you drink in moderation,
not only is it not bad for you, it’s actively good for you. Beer is full
of Vitamin B, and it actively lowers the risk of heart disease and cancer,
for Christ’s sake.

But we’re scared
of a bit of liberty. Most of us are grown-up enough to be able to drink
and get on with it as a functional part in our lives.
Every single civilization in the history of the world has drunk alcohol
at some point, and we do it because it feels nice. If it was as dangerous
as they say, we wouldn’t be here now! There will always be a few people
who can’t handle it – there are damaged, sensitive people the world over
who believe rock music is telling them to kill themselves, or are obsessed
with sex or addicted to tranquilisers, or play Dungeons & Dragons
and think they can fly. You just can’t ban everything that’s potentially
dangerous, but we seem to be trying to go that way. Most global drinks
companies are starting to plan for a time when alcohol advertising is
banned altogether. The problem is, they’re scared to fight back and lobby
on the many benefits of drinking because they’re terrified of being seen
to encourage alcohol abuse.

The problem is worse in the US because of the bible basher thing (even
though Jesus’ first miracle was to turn water into wine), but behind
the religion is this need to control and regulate people. The pub has
always been a place where people can escape the glare of the state and
relax and be themselves, away from supervision. And we’re all supposed
to be efficient little workers now, devoting our lives to the companies
we work for so we can remain competitive. You can see why Australia,
even though it does have these issues to some degree, is like a drinker’s
paradise.

Q:. Were you surprised as the hospitality given to you as a beer writer around
the globe? Do you think that would have happened if you were writing about
another product, e.g. apples? Why would this be do you think?

A:I dedicated the book to the kindness
of strangers. I couldn’t believe how welcoming people were everywhere
I
went. Yeah, part of it was I told them I was writing
a book and they wanted their country or their beer to come across favourably,
but you’re right – it wasn’t just that, and there is something about beer that
made it more extreme. Beer is simply the most sociable drink in the world.
It always has been, back to when ancient kings would drink wine from individual
goblets but drink beer from large, communal pots. So beer attracts people who
are particularly sociable. It turned out that half the people I was meeting
for the first time in different parts of the world all knew each other from
international competitions and festivals and so on. It’s a great way to live.

Q: You conclude in your book that the best drinking occurs when you
are "a
bit pissed" (i.e. rather than drunk). You mention that other countries
have a special name for it: "la chispa" in Spanish, "Gemutlichkeit" in
German, "hygge" in Danish. That all sounds great, but you then say, "The
Irish have the craic" as though it is the same thing. Now that sounds
all well and good, but every Irishman we've ever drunk with has been a right
pisshead, and I wouldn't say the Irish are role models for the "middle
state" as you put it. Explain yourself.

A: You’re right,
that is a tricky one. But when you’re in a traditional Irish pub out
in the country, sure everyone has had a few but what makes
the night
special is the conversation, the laughter and the music. Drinking is an integral
part of it, but it’s what makes the other stuff happen, it plays a supporting
role. Now it’s a different story when you meet the Irish abroad – they only
seem to have brought the drinking bit with them, not the rest of it. But
I’d say Aussies are the same: drink in an Australian pub, and you have
a fantastic
time, with everyone taking the piss and so on. But meet a bunch of Aussies
at Oktoberfest and they only seem to want to drink until they fall over or
get into a fight.

Q: Although you may have already covered this in your answer, if we
had to give one beer message to our readers, it would be to drink better
but less. Drink three or four really interesting beers (starting light
with say a decent pilsner and eventually ending up with a stout), rather
than guzzle 7 or 8 state based lagers without thinking. Or as Chuck says,
don't just have a beer but savour it and enjoy the flavour. That would
presumably put you in that 'middle state' in terms of sociability, but
would also give you something to enjoy and talk about as well without
getting a cracking hangover the next day. Is this your middle state,
or is the middle state having the 7 or 8 lagers but not moving onto the
bourbons afterward?

A: Yeah,
it’s definitely drink better but drink less. I find now that on long
session I can drink beers that are 8 or 9% ABV,
but I drink
them
slowly, savouring
their depth and complexity, and not get drunk. I’ve got one beer, a Belgian
brand called Scaldis, which is 12 %. People say, ‘shit, how can you drink
a beer that strong?’ and I point out that it comes in a 25cl bottle,
the same
as a large glass of wine, and that wine is between 12 and 14%, so I’m drinking
exactly the same amount of alcohol as they bare, and they still see me as
some kind of alkie. On the other hand, I find it hard now to sink pint
after pint
of something bland – it just seems like there’s no point to it. Of course,
there is something in our genetic make-up, or history or culture, that Anglo-Saxons
have in common (Aussies, Brits, Americans and Germans) – we do find it hard
to stop at that middle state, we do like to carry on, whereas Latin countries
find it much easier. For me, drinking more interesting, flavourful, stronger
beers in smaller quantities, is the way to do it. I don’t want to turn into
a beer bore, but when you let a good beer roll around your tongue, hitting
the different flavour receptors and really savour it rather than just necking
nit down, you feel like you’re getting about five times more value out of
it.

Q:
Towards the end of your book you express your frustration at English
beer culture. Your local for example, used to serve cracking
real ales,
although
they weren't thought of as real ales then, they just were. It was your beer.
Now people do a song and dance if they serve up what used to be the norm,
and no doubt expect to be paid a 'premium' and recieve accolades. Do
you think
we will ever move away from 'craft' beers being seen as premium and just
becoming beer again? I suppose this has happened with lager hasn't it.
Initially it
was new and special, and now it is the norm.

A:The thing that’s most annoying about premium is that it’s a
function of image more than reality. So the thing about real ale in the
UK is
that it’s actually
cheaper than lager, even though it’s better beer. This delights true real
ale fans. The only problem I have with it is that they’re a tiny minority
of drinkers,
and because real ale has a shitty, nerdy image more people don’t drink
it, so fewer pubs stock it, so the fact that it’s cheap doesn’t do me
any favours
because it’s hard for me to find it!

The flipside is that
we’re getting loads of new beers that are being marketed as ‘premium’
just because they’re from countries we haven’t
seen beer from before. So you’re getting punters paying £3.80 for
a pint of Russian lager thinking it’s quality, when in fact it’s vastly
inferior not only to the real ale that’s on the same bar at £2.40
a pint, but also to lagers like Heineken, which are simply better but
are a bit boring because they’ve been around for so long. But I suppose
if we were all perfectly informed and made decisions entirely rationally
then the world would be an incredibly dull place.

Q: I was once told to not put my interest in beer in my CV when applying for
a job in the UK or people will think I'm a pot bellied, sandle wearing, bearded
Real Ale freak. I didn't have a clue what this person was talking about. Surely
this is unfair, as in my mind an interesting qualty beer has nothing to do
with, well, sandles and beards at least. How did this come about, does it still
exist, and what does the future of the image of someone interested in beer
in the UK hold?

A:It’s that thing about image again. British men are famous
for their hobbies, particularly the middle-aged, slightly eccentric
British male
who has trouble
relating to people and is far happier pottering in his garden shed or study.
Some of these guys get into train spotting. Some of them get into stamp collecting.
Sadly, some of them get into beer. And while they’re the tiny minority, they
are the most visible and the most vocal.

And unfortunately CAMRA, the Campaign for Real Ale, encourages this.
The problem is that real ale almost died out in the UK. Craft beer around
the world would be nowhere near where it is today if CAMRA hadn’t formed
and campaigned to prevent traditional British beer from dying out. But
because this was their focus, as an organisation they’ve always tended
to look back rather than forwards. Tradition is good, new technology
and processes are bad. The traditional English pub is good, smart new
bars are bad. So their most vocal members tend to be people who are not
happy with the 21st century. I find all the time that because my books
have ‘beer’ in the title, people think I’m one of these guys. They’re
surprised when they meet me, even more surprised when they read the books.
Because while we all enjoy drinking beer, if you say you’re interested
in it enough to read or write about it you must be one of these guys,
because for normal people beer just isn’t that interesting. So many people
who have read my stuff because they know me have said, “I didn’t think
I was going to enjoy it, but actually it’s really interesting.” That
image problem is the biggest thing holding great beer back.

Q: One change I noticed from your earlier book (Man Walks into a Pub) is that
all of a sudden you are using fancy words to describe how a beer tastes. In
the earlier a book you seemed to consider all of that a bit of a wank. Has
your palete improved, or just your vocabulary? Can you really taste cloves
and bananas when mere mortals can only taste, well, beer?

A: Shit, I hope my vocab hasn’t got too wanky! What used to piss me
off – and still does – is when people try to make beer too intellectual.
The English
traditionally make shit wine (though this is starting to change) but are
renowned as the best wine critics in the world. We just go on about it
so much. We’re
scared of sensual pleasure, so we have t make it an intellectual one. Beer
writers are aping wine writers in this, failing to realise that wine only
really took off in the UK when the industry abandoned the pretentious
shit and started
describing it in words anyone could understand.

My palate is improving, and I’m trying to develop a vivid language to
convince people that it’s not “just beer”. Loads of friends and people
at my book readings keep telling me they don’t like beer. I’m getting
better at asking them what drinks they do like, then giving them a beer
that amazes them and confounds their expectations. I can only do that
in person, so for everybody else I have to try and make them thirsty
with this kind of description. I have to say, I wasn’t too bothered about
the whole tasting side of things until I was about half way through the
travel for this book. The I got more in love with beer itself, and more
frustrated that so few people seemed to appreciate it.

Q: Was there anywhere during your travels did you think, sod
this, Liz, stuff shithole England, we're upping stumps and settling
down here.
Surely you thought about it in Sydney when having a beer with me at Bondi
beach?

A: Bondi, Portland Oregon, Bruges, Madrid, Barcelona, the West of Ireland…
yep, it was a fairly regular occurrence. It’s 18 months now since I finished
travelling,
and while I’ve had a couple of holidays since then, I really miss these places.
London is the only place for me in terms of work (or maybe New York). The
trick is to get to a point where I don’t have to work again, so if all
your readers
buy my books I might be back out to Bondi soon!

Q: Is there a global beer culture? What conclusions can you
make about people and beer the world over? What's in store for us all?

A:
Wherever you go, beer is all about sociability and different interpretations
of mateship. All alcoholic drinks
make us more relaxed and help us interact with people, but wine is a bit
more poncy, and spirits are a bit more about
extreme connoisseurship or hardcore getting pissed. You go for a beer with
someone and you’re leaving all the shit of the world on the doorstep, you’re
going there as equals, you’re not going to allow the conversation to become
too intense for too long, you’re going to have a laugh. I found this everywhere
I went and it’s why I’m so passionate about beer.

And I think this meaning of beer is so fundamental that we’ll always
have it. Styles might change, we might go through phases where drinking
is frowned upon as we get more health conscious, but the history of beer
is very cyclical – the same issues keep coming back again and again,
and beer always survives them. In the UK, the pub and the church have
been the only constants of town and village life since the eleventh century.
I think that tells you all you need to know.

AustralianBeers.com
would like to thank Pete for his global drinking efforts. The result
of those efforts - Three
Sheets to the Wind - makes for a very entertaining
read on global beer culture, and should be purchased by any drinker
who thinks past his or her local mass produced beer. Think of a combination
of
Bill
Bryson
and the Beer Hunter going on a year long global pub crawl.

Oz of course
features prominently.

His
earlier book, Man
Walks into a Pub, is also worth a read if you (or your Dad)
would like to know something more about the history of beer. And who
wouldn't.